A Christmas Story
by SilentBat18
Summary: EDIT COMPLETE! This story follows Terry, Jazz, Bruce, Max, Matt and Mary as they celebrate the holidays. Much has changed since the first version, so please don't hesitate to check it out again.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: so, i noticed that since i first published this, i neglected to make edits as my writing style improved. So six years later, here's a much better and very much different version of my story. If you've read it before, read it again because I've changed a lot of things. Hope you enjoy this version! don't forget to review!_**

* * *

**December 23****rd**

Terry would be a fool to expect time off for Christmas. He made that mistake his first year as Batman, but quickly learned that both Gotham and Bruce show no sympathy towards holidays. Although he still secretly hopes for a break every passing year, he wasn't surprised to receive a call from the Justice League requesting his assistance. So he left without hesitation while Jazz stayed behind to look after their city during his absence.

"Cheer up," Rex suddenly says, pulling Batman out of his thoughts to notice his friend had quietly made his way to his side. "Things are quieting down; you'll get to go home soon."

"I've learned not to be optimistic around this time of year," Terry replies, bringing his eyes back to the view of his home planet; floating in orbit miles away from Earth always gives him mixed feelings of awe and irritation. "You and Marina planning anything special this year?" He asks without looking at Rex.

"Nah, never bothered; we're both too busy," Rex replies, shrugging. Since Terry first met them seven years ago, Marina and Rex's relationship had blossomed from friendship to romance; Terry was one of Rex's groomsmen at their small wedding ceremony. "She's been down there with the rescue team for almost twelve hours now and I don't think she'll be back anytime soon."

"Such is the life I guess," Terry sighs stepping away from the enormous viewing window. "You just come back?" He asks as they walk together to one of the control centers on the second floor of the station.

"Yeah, but not staying for long."

"I'll come with you then."

"There's no need. The worst is over; we just have to help the Peruvians clean up. You should go home, enjoy the holidays like the rest of humanity."

"It's not like I have anything better to do," Terry replies. "My family's in Florida and Bruce is… well, being Bruce."

"What about the new chick?"

"So you heard."

"We all did. You haven't said a word about her yet."

"What is there to say?" He shrugs. Rex raises a brow at him, suggesting he disagrees with Terry's indifferent attitude regarding his partner of two years. Terry rolls his eyes in response.

"So what's her story?"

"We're not talking about this now," Terry says as they enter the control center.

"Fine," Rex replies, sensing his reluctance could be blamed on the fact they are both still on duty. "How bout you just tell me why you'd rather spend Christmas here instead of with her."

"She's busy with her own family."

"Oh yeah? She got brothers? Sisters?"

"Subtle, Rex," Terry sarcastically replies, knowing his friend is just fishing for information.

"Doesn't hurt to try," Rex grins.

"Attention, Justice League team leaders: Warhawk, Green Lantern, Blaze, Slick, and Batman," an announcement suddenly sounds, "please head to telepad three to assemble your teams."

"Showtime," Rex says with another smirk. After reading their respective team member's names off of the console, the two head out to the designated teleportation pads, prepared to set out to the chaos of Peru.

* * *

**December 23****rd**

With this being Jazz's first time spending Christmas with her mother since she was a child, her reluctance isn't just understandable, but expected. Since her mother helped put her father's murderer behind bars despite the risk to herself, Jazz had grown to respect her more. But although she had forgiven her for past sins, the awkwardness between them is something that will take a lot longer to resolve; and Nicole is fully aware of that fact, which is why she decided to visit Gotham for the holidays instead of spending it at another Parisian fashion show.

As she finishes plating the delivered gourmet Italian food, Nicole hears the doorbell go off. With everything in order, she hurries over and opens it to find Jazz standing on the other side with an awkward smile on her face.

"Am I early?" Jazz asks.

"No, no, of course not," Nicole enthusiastically replies. "Come in, it's freezing out there."

Taking a step into the warm mansion, Jazz takes off her coat, which her mother takes and hangs in a closet.

"So how was your semester?" Nicole asks as she leads the way to the dining room.

"It was fine," Jazz replies, studying her new surroundings.

Nicole had gone all out with the decorations making Jazz feel like she's walking into Mrs. Claus's dining room. Garlands wrap around stair banisters, wreaths shaped into center pieces sit on the table with candles ticking out of them, ornaments hang from every available chandelier; the room reminded Jazz of Whoville from a vintage version of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas".

"Wow," she quietly exclaims, her eyes roaming around the room. "You, uh, didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"Oh, what, this? It's not trouble, really. Your grandparents used to love decorating for the holidays; I guess I inherited that passion. Come here, let me show you something."

Nicole walks out of the dining room and into the family room with Jazz following close behind. They walk into another magnificently decorated room where it appears no shiny embellishment was spared. In the corner by the chimney stands a tree at least seven feet tall and wearing decorations Jazz has never seen before.

Nicole smiles at her daughter's amazed expression. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she quietly agrees before they approach it.

"The ornaments are antiques passed down for generations," Nicole explains. "They're all hand made by the women of my family. See this one?" She points at a bird holding an olive branch in its beak carved in wood. "It was the first ornament made when my family came to the States almost a hundred and fifty years ago. That chip on the bird's tail is my mom's fault. She dropped it on accident when she was putting it up the first year it was handed to her."

"What did you make?"

Nicole squints as she searches the enormous tree for one of hers. After a few silent moments, she points at a white and blue furry snowflake.

"I made that one when I was twelve; it was my first one and I got to sew it on my own. I named my fashion line Snowflake because of it." She points to an intricately decorated angel made of while felt, feathers, and beads. "I made that one when I was fifteen, and it was the first time I realized I wanted to be a designer."

Jazz gives her a small smile before she turns her attention to the middle of the room. "What's that for?" She asks when she notices materials laid out on the coffee table.

"This," Nicole excitedly starts, pulling Jazz's hand and leading her to the table. "This is a Cleland family tradition. Get down here, come on," she encourages as she kneels.

When Jazz sits, her gaze drifts over to the multicolored sheets of fabric, the different shapes and sizes of wood, ribbons, beads, and scissors before she looks at her mother.

"So what are we making?"

"Anything you want," her mother smiles, picking up two square pieces of red velour. "If you can glue it, you can do it. That's what my grandmother told me the first time I made my ornament."

"I'm not exactly creative, though," Jazz confesses, hesitantly picking up the glue gun.

"It doesn't have to be creative. We have a dozen Santas on the tree, for crying out loud," Nicole replies as she sews the fabric together. "Hell, it doesn't even have to be good. It just has to be something meaningful to you, something you love."

Jazz takes a moment to think about what her mother just said; the question asking what she loves churns in her head as she tries to find an answer. Her eyes turn to the decorated tree hoping for some inspiration before a small smile creeps on her lips when she figures it out. She picks up two slabs of wood, one circular the other square, and she turns to her mother.

"You mind if I make one for a friend?"

* * *

**December 23****rd**

'_Slag it! How did I get myself into this? I'm going to be ridiculed for decades! I mean isn't that what families do? At least I'm dragging Jared down with me. But I still can't believe I agreed to this. Cooking a Christmas dinner for _both_ our families? What the hell was I thinking? How do you even cook a turkey?_'

"Do you think we should get two turkeys instead?" Jared asks, but the question goes unanswered. "Max?"

"Huh? What?" Max suddenly wakes from her worried thoughts.

"Hon, relax; you'll cook a great dinner. How many times should I say that?"

"Until I am blessed with the knowledge of how to prepare a Christmas feast for not one, but _two_ families!" She reaches a hand into the freezer to grab two whole turkeys. "How did you con me into this?"

"I didn't; you just couldn't stop yourself despite me objecting," he replies, unable to stifle a grin.

"Then what good are you as a boyfriend? You had one job: keep my big mouth from getting me into trouble. How'd you screw that up?"

"What can I say? Seeing you in trouble once in a while is too tempting to pass up," he replies still smirking before Max glares at him. "Anyway, what's next on the list?"

"Well, no thanks to your 'she can cook anything from scratch' comment, we need bread crumbs."

"Lead the way, Rachel Ray."

"Who?" Max asks with a raised brow.

"You know, that wrinkly old chef everybody loved a few decades ago."

"I have no idea who you're talking about," Max responds as she pushes the cart in the right direction.

"Yes you do!" Jared calls out after her with a growing smile.

* * *

**December 23****rd**

"But she always pinches my cheeks till they're about to pop," Matt whines to his mother as she packs suitcases sitting open on her bed. Telling from her hurried actions, it's obvious she's doing most of the packing while her youngest son does most of the complaining.

"Matt, you know we visit grandma every Christmas," she replies as she folds another pair of shorts.

"Yeah, but why couldn't it be Granny Beth? She's way more schway," Matt continues, leaning against the doorframe.

"You're just saying that because she gives you money whenever you visit," she replies, throwing shirts from the dresser over her shoulder and into the luggage.

"That and she has a German Shepard; Buck doesn't compare to that wimpy poodle Grandma Macy has."

"Matt, we visited Beth on Thanksgiving. Now its Macy's turn."

"But-"

"That's enough out of you, young man," she scolds, frowning at Matt. "One more word and you'll be staying with… um," Mary hesitates. She usually uses Grandma Macy as a threat, but in this situation, she's at a loss. "Mr. Wayne?" Matt scoffs, suggesting he's clearly not intimidated. He may not know Bruce as well as Terry, but he knows for a fact Bruce isn't going to let a kid hang around his place for a week. "Just grab your stuff; we're leaving first thing tomorrow."

"And what if I don't?" He stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest making an obvious statement of refusal.

"You forget, Matt," Mary ominously grins. "I'm the one in the position of power thanks to one tiny detail." Her son frowns with confusion before she continues. "Presents."

"You think bribing me is going to work?" Mary raises a single brow at him, instantly wiping away the cocky smile Matt is wearing. "I'll be needing that bag now."

* * *

**December 23****rd**

"_Mr. Bruce Thomas Wayne is cordially invited to attend_

_The Annual Holiday Charity Ball _

_On December 24__th__ at 8:00 pm _

_Hosted by District Attorney Samuel Young_

_And his wife Commissioner Barbara Gordon-Young. _

_Dress code is White Tie."_

Every year he gets her moves the cursor to open the second e-mail that always follows the first.

"_You had better say 'Yes' this year, Bruce, or I'll personally come over and drag you there if I have to."_

But she never does, and he knows it.

Only requiring two letters on the keyboard, he types in his reply and sends it. He then sets the laptop on the coffee table, picks up the cane leaning against the chair and slowly rises to stand. He makes his way to the ceiling to floor window and silently watches the delicate snowfall cover the vast land that is owned by the Wayne family.

'_Family, right,'_ he mentally scoffs.

He switches his gaze to the unlit fireplace under the portrait of his family, Thomas and Martha Wayne, triggering a memory that only comes to him once a year.

"Dad? Dad! Come on! It's time to put the star on the tree!" Bruce called to his father from the bottom of the staircase.

"Alright, son. Just a minute," he called back his voice originating from the study on the second floor. But young Bruce was too eager to wait, so he ran up the flight of stairs almost as fast as the Flash and burst into the study just in time to find his father hiding something in the secret compartment built into the desk.

"What are you doing?"

"Shh. It's a surprise for your mother," he replied with a grin that Bruce returned.

"What is it?"

"I'm not saying a word," Thomas responded approaching his son and leading him out the door.

"You know I won't tell, Dad."

"Funny. That's the exact same thing you said on Mother's day, her birthday, and Teacher's day, and yet she still managed to find out," he laughed as he ruffled his seven year-old son's hair. Resting his arm on Bruce's shoulder, the two head down the staircase.

"There you two are," Martha's gentle voice said when the two reached the base. "Bruce, your cocoa is getting cold."

"Can we put up the star now, Mom?" Bruce asked looking at her with his warm blue eyes. She let out a soft chuckle as she crouched to his level and straightened his messy hair. "Patience, sweetheart. That's the key to-"

"Success," he finished for her somewhat disappointed. "I know." He stared down at his sock covered toes.

"But you know what I think?" He looked up to find an uncharacteristic mischievous grin stretched on her lips. She held up a beautiful golden ornament in front of Bruce. The star was encrusted with diamonds and a note engraved on the base of the ornament.

'_Always love and you will prosper. Merry Christmas, my family,'_ were the words Bruce read. His father told him that those were the words of his great-great-grandfather, and ever since it was handed down from one generation to the next, the family has always done well.

"I think we've waited long enough." His mother finished still smiling at her son.

"Yes!" Bruce exclaimed as his eager grin returned.

Thomas laughed at the two. "Come on, let's not keep Alfred waiting."

With Bruce leading the way, they made it to the family room where Alfred was setting up the ladder by the tall, healthy pine tree. "Well, it's safe to say you three did an excellent job at decorating," Thomas praised as he admired the tree that seemed to glitter from the light of the fire it stood beside.

The delicate orbs were green, red, gold and silver, and each had a different design etched onto it. Silver tinsel hung from random branches with a traditional string of popcorn wrapped around it. The tree was at least twelve feet high, but the very tip of it was still bare and waiting to be dressed with the final and most precious ornament.

"I was the one who hung the tinsel and the popcorn," Bruce gloated with a bright grin. "Come on, Dad. We gotta finish it." He grabbed his father's hand and pulled him to the ladder's side.

"Careful, Bruce," his mother cautioned as Bruce began to climb the ladder.

His father stood under his son and kept a steadying hand on his side; he had to climb a few rungs to keep Bruce within arm's reach. Martha approached the two and handed the antique to her husband who in turn passed it up to Bruce. Treating it like the hundred-year-old inheritance that it was, Bruce took a gentle hold of it and gingerly placed it over the bare tip of the pine. Once he was sure it was on, he let go and smiled to himself. His father helped him down the ladder and the family of three – no, four – the family of four stood side by side: Thomas with arms around Martha, Bruce right beside them with Alfred on his other side. They were silent as they admired the completed tree. After a moment's appreciation, Alfred approached the base of the tree and flipped a switch that lit up the lights cleverly hidden within the branches. Bruce couldn't help but let out a gasp of wonder at the sight. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He then turned his gaze to his parents only to find them sharing a kiss.

But, having the mindset of any normal seven year-old, Bruce cringes at the sight. "Ew." Hearing his little comment, the three adults couldn't help but laugh.

It was one of the happiest times of his life, it was also the last time he ever saw the star ornament. True he had inherited it, but he never had the heart to take it out from storage. Alfred tried to persuade him, but he always refused.

'_Three, two, one.'_

_Ding._ "You've got mail," the voice from his computer sounds bringing a sigh to his lips. Barbara is too easy to predict.

-continued-


	2. Chapter 2

**Early December 24****th**

Volcano eruptions are the worst kind of natural disaster; they're unpredictable, explosive, and change vast areas of landscape forever. The ash is poisonous, mudslides are eminent, and strong earthquakes are expected. When a volcano wakes up, people don't know where to run or what to do, but luckily they have guardians who help lead them to safety.

That's what Batman has been doing for the last eight hours. He knows he is too vulnerable to be on Rex's team redirecting lava and keeping buildings from crumbling, but he's more than capable of taking over Marina's rescue team, giving her a much-needed break. With his work finally starting to wind down and most of the citizens evacuated, Batman gives himself a minute to breathe. Leaning against an ambulance, he downs half a bottle of water a rescue worker handed him earlier.

"How's it looking, Rex?" He says into his comlink before taking another gulp.

"We got a gorge dug up, so we're not worried about the lava anymore. Blaze is cooling it down as a precaution. Buildings aren't holding up, though."

"People still in 'em?"

"Not to my knowledge. How's it going on your end?"

"Pretty much done. They're bringing in the dogs soon."

"Oh, man; I hate that part."

"I know. We'll be finding more bodies than survivors," Batman replies, his wandering gaze fixing on a child a few feet away.

"Here's to hoping you find more of the latter."

"Ditto. I'll check in later," he says as he screws the cap back on the bottle.

"Good luck, kid."

Signing off, he straightens up and walks over to the child, curious as to why she's trying to brush the ash off of the pine tree in the park.

"Hey," Batman gently greets to get her attention. Startled, the girl jumps back looking like she's about to run. "Easy, I'm not going to hurt you," he quickly comforts, holding hands up. He notices her relax a bit, so he takes a step closer and crouches down to reach her height. "You know who I am?" He asks, resting arms on his knees.

She timidly nods. "Batman," she says.

"That's right," he smiles. "Where are your parents? You know where your mom is?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"What about grandparents, aunts, uncles?"

"My brother is taking care of me," she says, fiddling with her fingers.

"Where is he?"

She shrugs. "He told me to wait here."

"Where'd he go?" She shrugs again making him frown. "Okay; what's your name?"

"Maria."

"That's a pretty name," Batman says when he notices her hesitating again. "How old are you?"

"Six."

"Okay, Maria, I'm going to help you find your family; how's that sound?" The girl's eyes suddenly fill with worry. "What's wrong?"

"Dominic told me to wait for him to come back; I'm not supposed to go anywhere until he comes back."

"Uh, okay, well can I wait with you?" She takes a moment to consider the offer before she nods. "Are you thirsty?" He asks, holding his bottle for her to take. She nods once before she shyly reaches for it. "I'll get you some more, okay?" He says when he watches her thirstily drink the water. "Just wait here, Maria."

As he walks away from her, Batman puts a hand to his ear. "Batman to HQ."

"This is HQ, go ahead," Micron picks up.

"Got a lost kid here; who's handling missing persons?"

"J'onn, but he's swamped."

"Kids don't take priority?"

"That's what he's swamped with," Micron regretfully replies.

"Damn," he quietly sighs. "What about on the ground?"

"Talk to the local police force."

"That'll take forever."

"Sorry, man, it's what happens when half a nation is in crisis."

"Thanks anyway. Batman out." With a sigh, Terry grabs two bottles of water and a mask from an aide station and quickly heads back to Maria, finding her once again busy dusting ash off the branches. "Did your brother come back yet?" He asks, crouching to her level again. She shakes her head without turning away from the tree. "What are you doing?" He finally asks.

"Ash is bad for the tree. If the tree dies, Santa won't come."

Terry watches her gently but meticulously brush the branches with her sleeve pulled over her hand, amazed by how determined she is despite her surroundings. To be that innocent again sparks a bit of envy in the young man burdened with the world as his responsibility. If only he too could just worry about whether or not Santa is coming.

"Can I put this mask over your head?" He asks, holding up the paper mask.

"Why?"

"So you don't get sick from the ash."

Staring at him with large brown eyes, she gives his request a moment's thought before nodding and stepping forward. He gratefully smiles at her before gently placing the mask over her mouth and nose then stretching the elastic over to the back of her head.

"Better?" He asks, and she nods.

"Did you find my mama?"

"Not yet, but I will; I promise, okay?"

She nods again before returning to her duty at the tree, leaving Terry to look after her and suddenly thinking of the years he spent taking care of Matt. Remembering those days and realizing how important having his family around strengthens his resolve to find the little girl's parents.

"Maria," he calls out, making her look at him. "What are your parents' names?"

"Isabella and Joseph Hernandez."

"And how old is your brother?" She holds up ten fingers. "I'll find him, okay?"

"Are you leaving?" She asks, suddenly looking terrified.

"No," he reassuringly smiles. "No, I won't leave you. I have friends who can help."

Glad to have to have Batman's watchful eyes on her, she finally smiles back before she turns away to tend to the tree.

* * *

**Early December 24****th**

"Are we done for the night?" Jazz asks as she reaches Gotham's third tallest skyscraper. She lands on the side of the building, anchoring herself there with her claws as she draws her gliders in.

"Police scanners are quiet."

"Never stopped you from assigning a job."

"You're off the clock, Douglas," Bruce gruffly replies. "Go home."

"You got it," Jazz replies, signing off.

Leaping off the building, she opens her wings and fires her rockets, shooting off into the night sky headed for her empty apartment. It takes a few minutes for her to arrive and slip through the window into the dark living room. She sighs as she pulls off her mask and makes her way to the bedroom without turning on a single light. She flops face down on her bed, lying there for a few minutes as thoughts of past Christmases speed through her head.

Barely a handful in the last nineteen years were good ones; the rest were lonely and pathetic, not worth even a second to remember. Collecting disappointment and tears over those years, it's no wonder that Christmas is the worst time of year to her. The first year she spent away from her home set the tone for later years. She listened to the older kids tell stories of how Santa wasn't real, how if he was, each year at Christmas all the orphans would have homes to go to. She remembers how they beat her up for trying to convince them otherwise, her stubborn four-year-old brain refusing to believe the truth.

A groan escapes her throat as she flips over to lie on her back. Now with her mother in town asking to spend the holidays with her, she has no chance but to grin and bear it if she wants to rebuild the family she lost; the family she secretly asked Santa for fifteen years ago as tears streamed down her then bruised face. Her phone ringing to life pulls her out of her thoughts and back to reality. Pulling it out of a belt compartment, she holds it up to her ear.

"Yeah?"

"Tough night?" Henry asks, hearing the fatigue in her voice.

"Not particularly."

"Something wrong, then?" Concern mixes into his question.

"No, babe, everything's fine. How's Boston?" She asks, trying to change the subject.

"Cold. Sucks you couldn't come. My dad really wanted to meet you."

"What'd you tell him?"

"You had your own plans, but being a lawyer, he didn't believe me even if it is true… sort of."

She smiles a little. "Maybe next year then."

"I'm not holding you to that. So how are things going otherwise?"

"Fine," she curtly replies.

"You're going to tell me what's wrong eventually."

"Maybe eventually."

"I hate you."

"Love you, too," she grins. "Go back to bed. I'll call you at normal hours."

"'Night, hon."

Hanging up, Jazz tosses the phone on the pillow and slowly gets up to perform her nightly routine after a night out.

* * *

**Midday December 24****th**

Max doesn't know why Christmas shopping is the one and only thing she procrastinates on. Organic chem paper? Done two weeks ahead of time. Physics? A month. Quantum mechanics regarding space and time travel? The day after it's assigned. But shopping for presents even with the convenience of the Internet? Something about the chore makes her push it to the last minute. It's an enigma that she vows to figure out… later. At the moment, she's heading straight for the last pair of leopard-print heels in Amanda's size.

But when her hand falls on the shoes, so does another woman's. Max lifts eyes that switch from stunned to threatening when she finds herself looking at a short, pudgy woman with determination etched on her brow.

"I saw 'em first," she starts, narrowing her green eyes.

"The hell you did," Max counters, tightening her grip on the shoes.

"Look, lady, they didn't crown me Queen of Black Friday for nothin'."

"Lucky for me, it's December, so back off."

"Make me," she replies, trying to pull the shoes out of Max's grip.

"I'm only gonna warn you once, lady," Max glowers. "If you don't get your stubby fingers off of these shoes in the next two seconds, I'm gonna use the new knife set I got my mom to chop off that hand of yours, use the blender I got my aunt to mince it into a pulp, and then feed it to the baby coy fish I got my dad for his aquarium."

"I've heard scarier threats," she scoffs.

"Ever hear 'em from someone who meant it?" Max hisses.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," she challenges, her icy glare sending shivers down the woman's spine, making her slowly loosen her grip.

After glaring at each other for a minute, the woman clears her throat and lets go of the shoes. "You're lucky they're not the right color," she finally says, hiding her bruised ego.

"That so," Max replies, a satisfied grin stretching on her lips. "Must be a Christmas miracle," she quips before heading to the counter to pay for her trophy.

* * *

**Midday December 24****th**

'_Ow, ow, ow, ow. Let go of my cheeks, lady!'_ Matt screams in his head annoyed that his grandmother has a firm grip on both of them.

"You've _grown_ so much, my little Mattie!"

'_And you've _aged_ so much, Granny! Now let go!'_

"He looks exactly like his father," grandma Macy proudly comments.

'_What the hell are you talking about, you old coot? Do you even _know_ what dad looks like?'_

"But one thing hasn't changed, Mit Mit," Matt cringes at the nickname but struggles to keep the smile on his lips. "Your cheeks are still as pinchable as ever!" With his cheeks still in her firm grasp, she shakes his head from side to side as she continues to smile down at him. "Pinchable _and_ kissable!" She adds as she lowers herself to his height.

'_Kissa-what? _ _Oh God no! EW!'_ Grandma Macy bends down and places at least five wet kisses on each cheek before finally letting go to greet Matt's mother. The instant her hands leave Matt's face, he vigorously wipes his sore cheeks using the back of his hand and part of his shirt.

After mentally cursing Terry for being able to skip the trip, Matt makes his way into his grandmother's Floridian house taking note of the table filled with pictures of his family.

"Mom, leave the bags; Matt will help me carry them upstairs," he overhears his mother protest when his grandmother tries to pick up one of the bags. "Matt?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he replies heading back to the doorway and taking a piece of rolling luggage.

"It's the first room to your left, sweetie," he hears his grandmother call out as he moves away.

He stops at the base of the staircase and drags the large, heavy bag one step at a time. _'You'd think if they could invent… a flying car… they could at least invent…luggage that climbs stairs… on its own,'_ he thinks to himself, pausing every time he pulls the bag up a step. With a final grunt, he reaches the top and continues heading to the designated room, pushing the door open.

"Phew!" He exclaims when a blast of flowery fragrance hits his nose; taking a deep breath and holding it, he hesitantly walks in. "Either she's trying to hide a dead body, or she's really into room sprays," he says aloud.

He parks the bag at the foot of the bed and starts exploring the dresser. Resting on it, he finds not one, but two lit scented candles, a lit oil warmer and a bottle of room spray. He picks up the bottle and reads the name of the fragrance.

"Sweet pea, huh? The lady's a little obsessed."

"That lady is your grandmother," his mother's voice scolds startling him. He turns to face her standing in the doorway. "So a little respect, please."

"Does she have to call me Mit Mit every time I visit?" Matt complains as his mother enters the room with luggage in hand. She parks it beside the other one.

"I thought you liked it when she called you that."

"What universe are you living in, ma? Plus, I think she needs glasses."

"Why?"

"Seriously, how the heck do _I_ look like _dad_?"

"You know, when she says that, she doesn't mean appearance."

"Ahem, 'you _look_ exactly like you father'," Matt repeats, imitating his grandmother, but Mary raises a brow at him.

"What she meant is that you _seem_ so much like Warren."

"Then why can't she say that instead?"

"Because she's old," Mary sighs, wanting the argument to end. "Now help me unpack."

Just as Mary picks up one of the bags and sets it down on the bed, grandma Macy appears in the doorway with a bright excited grin on her face.

"Mattie! There you are! Come, come," she orders in a perky manner. "I want you to meet my dearest friends and bingo buddies," she informs, signaling him to approach.

"Actually, grandma, I have to help mom unpack. Can I take a raincheck?"

"Oh, nonsense," Macy scolds as she approaches her grandson, who happens to be doing a bad job at hiding his dread filled face. "Your mother can unpack on her own. Now we can't keep our guests waiting. After all, that's not polite, now is it?"

"Uh," but before Matt could come up with another excuse, his mother pushes him towards his grandmother.

"Go on, Matt. I'll be fine," she taunts with a grin. Matt, however, shoots a glare her way as the old woman drags him out the room.

Once the two reach the bottom of the stairs, his grandmother pushes him into the living room to his right. The moment his eyes fall upon the women in the room, they go wide with horror. His grandmother proudly stands behind him with liver-spotted hands firmly holding his shoulders, and sweeps her gaze over the eight occupants in the room. The pack of old women awkwardly jumps to their feet the moment they spot Matt. Their old, wrinkled faces spread to reveal pearly white dentures as they smile at the young boy.

"Ladies," Macy announces, "this is my youngest and most adorable grandson Matt. He came all the way from Gotham to visit me. And yes, it's true, his cheeks are quite kissable. Would anyone like to test them out?"

Matt's mouth falls open and his eyes widened to a cartoonish size when he hears the question. The ladies, bursting with glee, close in on the vulnerable fourteen-year-old leaving him with nowhere to escape. The last thing he sees is pearly white teeth disappearing behind lips that pucker up for the attack.

'_Have mercy.'_

* * *

**Late December 24th**

"Bruce?" A tiny voice called as a raven-haired head popped in to check the study. When it didn't find what it wanted, it moved to the next room. "Bruce?" the voice asked again. But once more, the search was fruitless. The young boy makes his way to the kitchen disappointed by the outcome. "Hey, Alfred, where's Bruce?" Dick asked his companion as he entered the kitchen. The room was filled with the aroma of gingerbread cookies baking in the oven, while Alfred busily arranged a fresh batch of cookies on a cooling rack.

"Master Bruce? I believe he's still at a meeting," the butler replied in his familiar British accent.

"Meeting?" Dick asked skeptically. He took a seat at the counter and tried to reach for a cookie before Alfred slapped away his extended hand with a wooden spoon. Scowling, Dick quickly pulled back his empty hand and gingerly rubbed it. "It's after six. I thought offices closed at five."

"They do, but Master Bruce is head of a large corporation. His hours tend to extend beyond that of a regular employee's"

"Oh yeah? Well then how come he keeps hiring people to help but still ends up with more work? I thought the whole idea of hiring people was so he could come home earlier."

"You have quite a sharp mind. Do you miss him?"

"Miss him?" Dick scoffed. Although he said it mockingly, the fact that he lowered his gaze to his restless fingers resting on the counter suggested otherwise. "Why would I miss him? He's not my father and it's not like I've seen enough of him anyway."

Taking off the reindeer oven mitt, Alfred made his way around to the young boy's side to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know it's been six months since the terrible incident and this is your first Christmas here, but try to understand that Master Bruce is trying his very best. Believe me when I say he cares for you."

"I know he does, or I wouldn't be here. But I just wish…" His voice faltered before he let out a heavy sigh and slid off the chair. "Never mind, just forget it."

"Wish what, Master Dick?" Alfred curiously asked.

"I just wish he could be more like Dad," Dick finished without looking up at the butler.

Kneeling down to his height, Alfred wrapped his arms around the boy pulling him into a warm and much needed embrace. Once he parted, he placed a hand of each one of Dick's shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"How about I give him a call and tell him to come home early tonight?"

Giving Alfred a half-smile, he nodded in agreement. "I hope you'll be convincing."

"Trust me, I will," Alfred replied with a smile of his own.

Although he was in full costume with cowl pushed back, Bruce was not yet ready to leave the cave. It was still too early, so to pass the time, he busied himself at a workbench filled with test tubes, beakers, burners, colorful chemicals and a pile of books and papers. He was bent over a thick chemistry book as he calculated reactions in one of his notebooks that could help him produce an anti-toxin to one of Scarecrow's newest fear gas. Before he could finish, Alfred appeared at his side and without saying a word, closed the book Bruce was using as a reference. Frowning at the sudden and unusual interruption, Bruce turned his gaze up to face Alfred and raised a brow.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind telling me today's date, sir?"

"December 24th. Is that all?"

"And would you care telling me how many people live in this household now?"

"What is this about, Alfred?" Bruce asked, slightly annoyed.

He turned his attention back to the book and opened it trying to find the correct page. However, before he had a chance to continue, Alfred once more shut the book.

"Master Bruce, tonight is Christmas Eve; I have prepared a delicious dinner and there is a young boy by the name of Dick Grayson waiting for you to come home from work so he could enjoy it with you."

"Alfred-"

"I'm not finished. Now for the past six months, Master Dick has rarely seen you. It is one thing he sees you once a week even though the two of you live under the same roof, however, it is another thing for you to ruin his first Christmas since his family's death."

"Al-"

"I'm still not finished, sir. Master Dick has lost his family and his home. I believe you chose to take him under your wing for a reason, but forgive me when I say you are being a lousy father at the moment. Since the time he has arrived to this manor, he has not once felt like it was home. He looks up to you and trusts you to be there for him. I would be very disappointed in you, Master Bruce, if he loses that trust."

A momentary silence followed as Alfred caught his breath. Still looking him in the eye, Bruce raised a brow to ask, "are you done now?"

"Quite."

With a sigh, Bruce looked away, put his pencil down, and rose to his feet. "Set the table. I'll be arriving in the black Lincoln. Just give me a few minutes to change."

Taken aback by how quickly Bruce changed his mind, Alfred cocked a brow. "That's it?"

Bruce turned to face him. "Excuse me?"

"That was fairly easy. I expected more resistance and your usual excuses. Are you being sincere?"

"Have I ever lied to you, Alfred?" Bruce asked with a smirk.

"There's always a first time, Master Bruce," Alfred answered with a satisfied smile before he turned and head to the stairs. "Don't be late or your soup will get cold."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce called back as he head to an alcove to change. "Oh, wait."

"Yes, sir?" Alfred stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to face Bruce.

"There are some gifts in the trunk of the car. I need you to bring them out and put them under the tree without Dick noticing you."

"Very well, sir. But I do believe sneakiness is your area of expertise."

"I won't have time to move them."

"And why is that, sir?"

"Because I'll be keeping Dick busy for the rest of the evening," Bruce replied with a smile.

"I see Ebenezer Scrooge won't be joining us this year," Alfred said more to himself as he walks away.

"What was that, Alfred?"

"Nothing, sir," he called back as he made his way to the exit.

Bruce wanders from room to room as Ace trails behind him. Everything is quiet except for Ace's rattling tags as he follows his owner to a closed door. Unlocking it, Bruce pushes it open and gazes into the darkened room before taking a step in. Ace has never been in this room since Bruce has never opened it before. Once the two enter, Ace can't help but give in to his instinct of sniffing anything his nose comes into contact with. However, the moment it is lowered to sniff the rug, Ace gets a nose full of dust causing him to sneeze uncontrollably. The entire room is covered with what seems to be an inch of the stuff.

One more sneeze and Ace makes his way back to his owner's feet, quickly learning to keep his nose high off the floor. Walking over to the window, Bruce pushes back the heavy curtains to allow moonlight to creep into the room, gently illuminating it. Turning away from the window's view, he takes in the room's current condition. Apart from the dust and a few stray cobwebs, everything is left untouched. The light blue sheets of the bed are still neat and slightly creased. The lamp Dick used to read his books whenever he was too sick or injured to go out still stood on the nightstand. Beside it lay one of his unfinished novels: Shutter Island. Bruce's eyes then move to the closet across from the bed. The doors are still wide open, and the shelves are empty except for a few forgotten items scattered on the floor. He was in such a hurry to leave that he didn't care for what was left behind.

It was years ago when the door was flung open with such force that it slammed against the adjacent wall before an infuriated Dick Grayson stormed his way in. In his rage, he opened the closet doors with the same anger and pulled out a duffle bag from the floor. Throwing it onto the bed, he began to grab his clothes and stuff them into it. Before he finished, he took out a random pair of jeans and grey shirt so that he could change out of his Robin costume. He hurled the costume out the bedroom door before he stomped over to his desk to grab what he needed.

With his cane softly tapping by his side, Bruce makes his way over to one side of the bed. A few feet away from the bed, broken shards of glass littered the floor. He moves to the source of the glass and stares down at an overturned picture frame lying beside the wall.

Dick had grabbed anything meaningful to him from the desk and stuffed it into his bag. He picked up a silver frame with the picture of his family, opened it, and gently slid out the fragile photo. Folding it once, he pushed it into a pocket before picking up the next frame that lined the desk. It was of him and Barbara embracing one another at some formal dinner they were invited to; but Dick could only stare at it with eyes filled with hurt before setting it facedown on the table. The next picture frame he held was one that filled his heart with a new rage. It was of him and Bruce standing side-by-side and smiling. With fury clouding his mind, Dick hurled the frame at the opposite wall and watched the glass explode and fly in every direction. Without regret or remorse weighing him down, he grabbed his bag and stormed out the room, never looking back.

A soft whimper escapes Ace's throat disturbing Bruce's thoughts. With blank eyes, he stares down at his companion, wondering what might have bothered Ace enough to set off such a sound. However, the Dane mix doesn't return the gaze. Instead, his attention is focused on the doorway.

"Of all places to find you, Bruce," a familiar voice says, breaking the silence and forcing Bruce's eyes to widen with surprise.

His eyes shoot up towards the doorway to find the one man he never expects to see again staring back at him with his infamous smirk. The intruder stands tall with hands stuffed into his pockets and his sturdy frame leaning against the door. His hair is now short and a silvery grey, his features slightly altered by the fine wrinkles time has given him, and his blue eyes seem lighter than what Bruce remembers; but there's one thing that definitely hasn't changed: his smile.

Finally finding his voice, Bruce manages to utter the stranger's name in a quiet gasp. "Dick."

"It's been a while."

-continued-


	3. Chapter 3

**Late December 24****th**

Two hours have passed since Terry found Maria, but her brother Dominic has yet to show up. He had already contacted J'onn asking if anyone who fits the family's description has been found or asking for Maria, but the answer was a simple no. So he tried with the local authorities when he finally got through, but they knew just as much as J'onn. He has already called Rex and Blaze's teams wondering if they know anything, but like the last two times, he learned nothing new. He's beginning to get frustrated, but tries not to make it obvious to the frightened girl.

"Batman to HQ," he calls a second time, hoping they could help even if it wasn't their department.

"HQ, go ahead Batman," Slick replies.

"Where's Micron?"

"Switched shifts ten minutes ago," the League's new speedster replies. Slick joined the league three years ago after she found out that the reason she is the world's fastest woman was because of her father Wally. "What's up?" She asks, expertly handling the large number of calls coming in thanks to her powers.

"Got a lost kid here-"

"I'll switch you to J'onn," she interrupts.

"No, stop," Batman protests, "I already talked to him."

"Then who do you want to talk to?"

"You."

"Not when I'm playing this gig, Bats; sorry."

"Come on, Slick, cut me some slack. I've been waiting to hear something, _anything_ for the last two hours."

"You didn't hand the kid over to-"

"No, I can't; I made her a promise."

Slick isn't sure if he is being sincere or if he's just clever enough to know how to manipulate her; keeping promises to her is as holy as a Buddha statue is to a monk.

Either way, what Batman said has touched a part of her, so with a sigh, she asks, "what's the name?"

"Maria Hernandez; her parents are Isabella and Joseph, and a ten year old brother named Dominic."

"Hang on."

With blazing speed that even computers can barely manage to keep up with, Slick reads the incoming reports as well as those of the past six hours in less than five minutes before she returns to the line.

"Only thing I got was Dominic asking authorities about his parents' whereabouts before he disappeared from their custody. Says here that their house is a mile from the eruption sight. You think he went back?"

"Would you if you had to protect your baby sister?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Then there you go. Thanks, Slick, I owe you one."

"Keep your promise to the kid and we'll call it even, Bats. HQ out."

Signing off, Terry turns to the little girl. "Maria, do you know which way your house is?"

Maria looks up then around before she points south, the same direction where the lava is still hot and running. His eyes narrow when he realizes the difficulty of the situation.

"Here's the thing," he starts, squatting down. "I just called my friends and they told me that it's best if we go look for your brother. How does that sound?"

"What if he comes and doesn't find us here?"

"I don't think that's going to happen, but I'll tell you what; I'll tell the police if they see him, they tell him where you are okay?" She hesitantly nods before Terry holds out his hand for her to take.

She stares at the large, gloved hand in front of her, still debating whether or not she should abandon her post. Just when he thinks she needs more encouragement, Maria wraps her little fingers around his making him smile before he leads her to the police officer. After notifying the officers regarding Dominic, he bends down so he's at Maria's level.

"I think I have an idea of where your house is, Maria, but are you afraid of heights?"

"Why?"

"Because I can get us there faster if we fly."

"I don't like flying. It scares me," she replies, her eyes widening with worry.

He rubs his neck with exasperation. "Okay, then we'll walk, is that fine?" She nods once. "You know how to ride piggy back?"

She nods more vigorously. "Me and Dominic did it all the time."

Terry smiles before he crouches down. "Hop on," he invites, patting his back.

* * *

**Early December 24****th**

No matter how exhausted she is, somehow sleep continues to evade her. Tired of wrestling with it, she lifts herself out of bed and heads to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. She sighs as she flops down in a chair while she waits for her coffee to brew. Her eyes wander for a second before they rest on her cell phone. Reaching for it, she opens the contacts list and unintentionally scrolls down to Terry's name. Suddenly realizing what she has done, she quickly sets the phone down and shakes her head as she reprimands herself.

She knows he's still on League duty, so now isn't the time to bother him, even if she wants to hear his reassuring voice. It's only recently that she realized she struggles to sleep without Terry's help, and she knows it's because he's the last person she talks to before she goes to bed. His interaction, his voice, his cobalt blue eyes have become her routine, sort of like the nightly grooming rituals people perform before climbing into bed; and it doesn't help knowing the fact that science has proven those routines actually help someone sleep.

Jazz sighs as she slides the phone across the table away from her so she wouldn't be tempted to disturb Terry. It's only been little over a day since they last spoke, so she finds it pretty pathetic how dependent on him she has become. The coffee machine beeps announcing it's finished brewing, so Jazz gets up and opens a cabinet to grab the biggest mug she has. But the sudden and unexpected ringing of her phone startles her, making her accidentally drop the cup.

"Shit!" She curses, picking it up to find a crack has formed along the side. Scowling, she reaches for the phone and answers it with eyes that continue inspecting the damage. "What?" She starts, balancing the device between her ear and shoulder as she fingers the damage.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Terry's familiar voice asks, surprising Jazz and making her once again drop the mug. When it hits the floor this time, the handle breaks off.

"Son of a-" she curses again, crouching down to pick it up.

"Jazz?"

"Sorry, no, you didn't wake me; I just didn't expect to hear from you. Are you back?"

"No."

"Oh," Jazz replies, frowning with curiosity. He never calls unless he's back.

"I got a favor to ask."

Her frown eases a little, but not completely. "A favor?" She asks, tossing the broken mug in the trash.

Terry hears the unmistakable tinkling of something broken, so he asks, "Are you still on duty?"

"No, my mug just broke."

"Oh," he replies, wondering if it was his fault.

"Anyway, the favor?"

"I need you to access the computer and send me someone's picture."

"Sure," she replies, moving to the living room where her laptop awaits on the coffee table. "Mind if I ask why a Leaguer can't help you with said favor?" She asks as she logs in.

"They're too busy," he lies; he knows Slick would not object to helping him. "Anyway, the name's Dominic Hernandez, age 10, Latin American."

"Nationality?"

"Peruvian."

"Hang on, this'll take a minute."

"So," he starts while Jazz types, "sandman failed to pay a visit?"

"How'd you guess?" She smiles as she switches to speaker mode.

"Experience," he replies with sincerity; everyone has routines, after all, so he's glad he has a chance to talk to her.

"So why am I looking for this kid?" She asks as the computer searches databases.

"Getting my good deed in for the day," he quips.

"Didn't realize you were a boy scout, too," she retorts with a grin. "I take it the cops are too busy?"

"Yeah," he sighs.

"That sucks. Okay, got a few hits on Dominic."

"Send all the pictures you got; I have someone who can identify him."

"Done. Anything else you need?"

"Yeah, how are things going?" He asks.

"Okay, I guess. Things are pretty quiet here."

"No, I meant with your mom," he corrects, momentarily catching her off guard.

"Oh, uh, we're fine," she stutters wondering why he's asking.

"You don't sound very convincing."

"Look, my business is my business. You just focus on finding the kid," she replies, sounding more irritated than she wants to.

A tense moment of silence passes before Terry's voice comes back. "Fine, but we _will_ talk later."

"Sure, whatever."

"I mean it, Douglas. Thanks for the help, and I'll see you when I see you," he says before hanging up.

She sets her phone down gently and sighs as she leans back in her couch. She doesn't know why she snapped at him like that, but she acknowledges that he didn't deserve it. Her eyes wander over the cookbooks standing on a shelf in the kitchen. As her lids grow heavy with sleep, she gets a good idea on how to make it up to her partner.

* * *

**Early December 25****th**

"Max?" Jared peaks his head through her apartment door looking for her. However, the smell of smoke alarms him before he hears her cry out from the kitchen. Pushing the door open, he rushes into the apartment.

"Max?" He calls again when he bursts into the smoke filled kitchen.

"My turkey!" She yells.

Flapping his arms to blow smoke out of his face, Jared finds a sight he never expected to find. The entire kitchen is a mess of food, dishes, pots, pans, and a familiar figure bent over the oven. Relieved to see Max is fine, he makes his way over to her side.

"Jared? What are you doing here?"

"Am I not allowed to check up on you?"

"You want to know how I'm doing? Just look around! That should give you a hint!" She yells out in frustration.

"Where's the turkey?" He asks remembering the cry she let out before he found her.

"You mean that piece of coal in the oven?" She asks pointing at the incinerated fowl.

"Um, ok; no problem. We got two turkeys, remember?"

"I take it you haven't met my tar covered friend over there," Max sarcastically replies, pointing to another charcoaled turkey by the sink. Wincing at the sight, Jared turns back to face his girlfriend.

"Don't worry, hon. We'll figure something out. We have six hours till we have to get to mom's place. I'll go get another turkey and-"

"_Another_? Jared, there are none left!" Max frantically interrupts. "No turkeys, no hams, no chickens, not even duck!"

"What about fish?"

"I am _not_ serving fish," Max growls as she grabs the burnt bird from the oven and tosses it into the garbage. "I know!" She suddenly exclaims when an idea pops into her head. "Tofurkey!"

"What?"

"You know, tofu made to taste like turkey."

"You really think people are going to eat that?" Jared asks with a raised brow. "I mean, there is a reason why it's the only thing that isn't sold out."

"You have a better idea?"

Rather than suggest a turducken to his nerve-wrecked girlfriend, he raises his hands in surrender. "Fine; so where can we get this tofurkey stuff?"

"This is why God created nerds who invented the Internet," she replies as she starts the search on her smartphone.

* * *

**Early December 25****th**

"Mom, I don't know half these people," Matt whispers to his mother when he sees a room full of strangers.

"They're your relatives," she whispers back.

"The key word being 'relative', meaning I should know them."

"Just go in there and be polite," she replies, slightly irritated. She pushes him in as she smiles at the people filling the living room.

"The presents better be worth it," Matt mumbles as he puts on a fake smile and holds back the urge to cringe when one of his grinning great aunts makes the approach towards him.

* * *

**Early December 25****th**

"I see you've managed to brainwash another one," Dick had said much earlier that morning when Bruce couldn't find his voice.

"Let me guess," Bruce finally said, his surprised eyes turned steely, "you're here to warn him about me?" Dick shrugs. "He's been with me seven years and you're going to use that as an excuse to show up?"

"Thought he'd be dead within six months of starting, so I didn't bother. Guess I was wrong," he smirked.

"He's not here, Dick."

"That's too bad; really was looking forward to meeting the punk. Oh sorry, I forgot, he must be civilized now and forever grateful to you for pulling him out of the slums."

"Get out," Bruce growled.

With a scoff, Dick turned on his heel and walked down the hallway while whistling a familiar tune. No longer having Dick's watchful eyes on him, Bruce's frame crumpled from the shock but he managed to stay on his feet long enough to compose himself. His only chance to reconcile with his son had miraculously arrived knocking on his door, yet pride still managed to keep it locked out. But the ache in his joints reminded him that pride no longer has the same worth as time, so with cane in hand, he followed Dick to the hallway.

"Why are you really here?" He asked, quieting Dick's whistling and making him stop at the staircase.

He turned to face him, surprising Bruce when his arrogant smile disappeared. "To check on my old man."

-continued-


	4. Chapter 4

**Midday December 25****th**

Maria had confirmed one of the pictures Jazz sent to be her brother, so with the knowledge of who to look for, Batman continues the march to Maria's house. He had been walking for a few hours now, glad that Maria was fast asleep on his back. The trail, however, has been getting rougher the closer they get to the eruption sight. He had managed to climb the rubble littered hills until he reached a roadblock he did not anticipate: a twenty-story building had collapsed because of the earthquake that rumbled minutes after the eruption.

He now stands before the heap, looking for a way around that won't require flying; but after twenty minutes of searching, he realizes there is no clear path around the broken building. His only chance to make it to the other side is by flying over the twenty-foot wall. With a sigh, he crouches down and gently tries waking Maria.

"Hey, Maria, wake up," he whispers over his shoulder.

"Are we home?" She drowsily asks, rubbing her eyes.

"No, not yet. Can you stand for me?" He asks as he sets her feet on the ground. When she pulls away from him, he turns to face her. "Here's the thing; see this wall? We need to get over it, but before we do that, I have to fly up there to see what's on the other side. Can you wait here for me?"

Studying the wall he pointed at, Maria's young mind manages to understand what Batman explained, so she nods as she kneels on the ground and finds a few sticks that would occupy her while he's gone.

"Here," Batman adds, pinning a tracer on the collar of her shirt. Keep this on you, and if you need me, just press the red button, okay?" She looks at the pin, then up to his face before nodding again. "Okay, I'll be back, just don't move."

Reassuring himself with a last glance over his shoulder, Batman releases his gliders before he takes to the air and disappears behind the wall. Landing on an exposed beam, Terry's gaze slowly scans the area.

"Shit," he tiredly sighs when he sees the seemingly endless destruction in front of him.

The only buildings standing are the few that are no higher than two stories, but even those closest to the volcano couldn't stay up. The collateral damage is immense with debris blocking most if not all the roads and making Terry realize that it's going to take a lot longer if he continues on foot. He'll have to convince Maria to take flight with him, otherwise, they'll be here all day and night trying to navigate the disorganized streets.

However, just as he is about to make his way back, something out of sync catches the corner of his eye. Focusing on a tiny crevice under a collapsed roof, his lenses zoom in on what he discovers to be the bottom of a shoe. Frowning with curiosity, he leaps off his perch and flies down to the hole to take a closer look. Once he's a few feet away, he suddenly discovers the kid-sized shoe he found still has an owner.

Kneeling beside the tiny hole, Terry places a hand over the ankle in hopes that the suit's sensors will pick up a pulse. When the unmistakable sound beats in through his earpieces, he frantically begins uncovering the child buried in rubble. Pushing away the large slab of concrete leaning over him, Terry's gut tightens when he recognizes Dominic's unconscious face. Picking him up, he carries him away from the collapsed building to a safer, wide-open space before laying him down on the ground.

"Dominic," he tries shaking him awake. He pushes his brown hair away to find a bruise on his brow. "Dominic, come on, buddy, wake up." The ten-year-old's eyes twitch before they fly open, freezing on Batman's face. "Hey," Batman smiles. "We've been looking for you."

Dominic suddenly staggers to his feet. "My parents, I'm looking for my parents. Did you find them?" He asks without showing the same apprehension as his sister.

"Not yet. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Please, my sister, you have to find her, too."

"Already did; she's on the other side of the wall. Dominic, how did you end up here?" Batman asks.

"I crawled through the holes," he explains, pointing at unseen crevices too tiny for the young hero to squeeze through. "But then there was an earthquake, and some of the rocks fell," he says, rubbing the bruise on his head.

"Come on, I'll take you to Maria."

"No!" Dominic suddenly exclaims. "My parents! You have to find them! The police won't help us, they just put us with other lost kids."

"I don't know where they are, though."

"But you found me," the young boy counters.

Batman stops himself from saying "with luck" and instead sighs. "Do you at least know where they might be?"

"Better. I know where they are. My mom made an emergency plan and told us to meet her at the shelter in Saint Miguel's church. It's over there," Dominic points in the direction of more destruction.

Terry kneads the back of his neck in exasperation. "Uh, that shelter's been closed because of the proximity to the eruption."

"Please, Batman, you have to find them; I know they are there," the young boy pleads with tears pooling in his eyes.

"Okay, okay," Terry quickly replies, not wanting the child to burst into tears. "I'll see what I can do. Now, are you afraid of flying?"

When Dominic shakes his head, Batman picks him up and flies over the wall, returning to Maria's side. As the kids celebrate their reunion with hugs, Batman steps away to contact headquarters.

"This is HQ," Slick replies.

"Got another favor to ask," Terry starts.

"Did you promise the kid that Santa's on his way?" She quips.

He rolls his eyes before saying, "I found her brother, but he says his parents were supposed to meet him at St. Miguel's shelter."

"Which isn't open for business," Slick finishes for him.

"Could you see where they relocated?"

"I could try; the problem is, those people could be scattered everywhere."

"I know, but if they had instructions on the next best place, I'm hoping these kids' parents might be smart enough to go there."

"Give me a minute, I'll see if there's some kind of roster." With speed that could only be rivaled by her own father, Slick managed to complete the research in record time. "You know, Bats, not sure if you got an angel on your shoulder or if it's just dumb freakin' luck, but I actually managed to find these elusive parents you keep asking for," Slick announces with a smile in her voice.

A relieved grin stretches on Batman's face as he listens to the location and directions Slick relays to him.

* * *

**Late December 25****th**

Taking in a steadying breath, Jazz tries to calm her nerves before she rings the doorbell and waits for it to open. It takes a minute before Nicole answers it, warmly inviting her in.

"Hi," Jazz greets, taking off her coat after stepping in.

"I was just making some cookies," Nicole smiles before leading the way to the kitchen.

"Cookies?" Jazz asks as her eyes roam around the room littered with baking pans, cookie cutters and ingredients.

"It's the only thing I can actually make in the kitchen," she says, moving behind the counter to finish cutting the sugar cookie dough into snowmen. "Sit, make yourself comfortable," she invites, smiling at Jazz. She takes a seat at the kitchen island as she watches her mother line a cookie sheet with the snowmen. "You can ice the ones over there if you like."

Jazz looks over at a rack full of cooled cookies before bringing her attention back to her mother. "Uh, yeah, sure. Actually," she hesitantly starts as she gets up. "I, uh, got you a present."

Nicole lifts curious eyes to watch her daughter move towards her bag and pull out a large envelope before returning to her seat.

"You remember how you told me you prefer printed pictures over the digital ones?" Jazz timidly asks; Nicole smiles as she nods. "Uh, well…" Jazz trails off, holding out the envelope for her mother to take.

Wiping her hands on a kitchen rag, she takes the envelope and opens it; her smile grows as she pulls out a small pile of printed photographs.

"I figured you'd like to have pictures of me for your albums," Jazz explains as Nicole slowly sifts through them, carefully studying each one.

"Thank you," Nicole finally sighs, looking up at her daughter. "They're amazing."

Jazz lowers bashful eyes as she shrugs before pulling the bare cookies her way. "No big deal. Glad you like them."

"When was this taken?" Nicole suddenly asks, singling out a picture of a younger Jazz reaching an arm into a tank full of rays.

Jazz takes a quick glimpse at it, then starts spreading white icing on a cookie. "I was ten when the school took us on a field trip to Baltimore's National Aquarium. It was a good day," she says, smiling as she remembers the surprise she felt when a rubbery ray brushed against her hand.

"What about this one?" Nicole asks, resting elbows on the counter and holding up another picture. It was of Jazz and a boy with short, blond hair and blue eyes, his arm hanging on her shoulders as he tousles her raven waves; she is playfully scowling at the giant grin he is wearing.

"I was thirteen at the time; that's Henry, by the way," she adds pointing at the then seventeen year-old. "He was teasing me about something I can't remember. I think it was my height, how I was too short," Jazz explains as she reaches for another cookie. "He was 6'1" in that picture, but I was still 5'3" and self conscious about it."

"Did you hate to be teased?"

"By Henry? No, never, I knew it was all for fun. Besides, if it ever got too bad, I just teased him about his scrawny legs," Jazz replies, stifling a mischievous grin.

"Is he the same Henry you're dating now?"

"Mhm," she replies. "Don't worry, he's a nice guy with a goatee and better legs," she quips, making her mother smile.

"I hope I can meet him some time."

"Sure, next time you're in town," Jazz absent-mindedly replies, never growing aware of the disappearing nervousness. "Actually, I have a more recent picture of us somewhere in there," she continues.

Before either woman knows it, the atmosphere lightens like morning light shining on a darkened city when they swap adventurous tales they've lived through, memories they treasure, and even a few secrets they hold dear.

* * *

**Late December 25****th**

Poking the white block that shares the consistency of jell-o sitting on his plate, Jared is hesitant to take a bite out of the tofurkey just like the rest of the relatives sitting at the long dining table. The room is silent except for the occasional clanking of forks against plates and the clearing of throats. Finally, Jared's mother speaks up.

"So, Maxine, this is a surprising dinner," she says in the most polite tone possible and a small smile.

"Uh, yeah. Well, break away from the herd and all that," Max timidly replies.

"Nothing wrong with that, I suppose."

"Yup." An awkward moment of silence later, Max's confidant voice finally fills the room. "So, Chinese anyone?"

At that suggestion, everyone breathes a sigh of relieved agreement as they stand and head to the door. As the awkwardness passes, the rest of the evening goes on like any other holiday dinner: laughter, chatter, some singing, and an uncle who had a little too much eggnog, otherwise known as the perfect Christmas.

* * *

**Late December 25****th**

Kisses, hugs, old people, annoying children, pinches, more kisses and a headache later and Matt is about ready to explode. Luckily, however, Mary finally lets him off the hook by signaling him away from the crowd of relatives and into their room upstairs.

"Alright, mom. I've done everything: I let everyone pinch my cheeks, endured the five-year old cousins' screaming and yelling, ate at the kiddie table, and avoided pulling uncle Joe's finger not to mention tried really hard not to blow up the turkey again. What else do you want me to do?" Matt asks pacing with frustration.

"Open your present," Mary replies with a smile.

"But I – wait, what?" Matt asks taken completely off guard. His mother pulls out a rectangular box wrapped in green and red wrapping.

"I think you'll like it," she says as Matt takes it from her. With a grin in his eyes, he rips open the wrapping to reveal a leather box. He opens the box and his eyes go wide with excitement.

"Woah," he gasps, taking a seat next to Mary. He pulls out a hunter's knife sheathed in leather. "You really want me to have it?"

"Do you even know what _it_ is?"

"Duh, a knife," he replies rolling his eyes.

"It was your father's."

"Dad's?" His brown eyes travel down to the blade in his hands.

"He inherited it from his father. He always took it with him whenever he went fishing or camping. He wanted to pass it on to you before he died, but you were too young then."

"How come he didn't give it to Terry? I mean he is the oldest," he shrugs with seeming indifference, yet tightens his grip around the black hilt.

"He wanted _you_ to have it." She doesn't notice the warming effect her reply has on her youngest son.

"He did?"

"Since you were born. Go ahead, Matty, open it up," she encourages, nudging him with her shoulder.

Matt pulls off the sheath hiding the steel blade and studies the weapon with awe. Halfway down the length of it, the smooth, sharp knife notches into a serrated one. It was two and a half inches at its widest, narrowing to a sharp point seven inches up.

"Your grandfather gave this to your dad when he went off to college. He's taken good care of it since then, so you need to do the same."

"I will," he replies as his fingers caress the grainy feel of the hilt.

"Unscrew the bottom," Mary instructs, so Matt does. The cap on the bottom of the hilt comes off with a few turns to reveal a compass hidden on the other side along with a small Swiss army knife. "Your dad was the one who thought to put the army knife in there, and you grandfather the compass."

"Looks like I can fit a GPS transmitter on the other end," Matt wonders aloud as he squints into the hollow handle. "You know, like one of those tiny ones that can help people find me."

"Yeah, looks like you can," Mary agrees; the fluttery feeling of pride engulfs her, glad that her son is attaching himself to the knife the same way her late husband did.

"Thanks mom," Matt says, raising eyes grateful for being given a chance to be closer to his father again.

"Take good care of it, honey," she replies, kissing him on the top of his head before leaving the room.

Seated alone with the only possession his father left him, bits of forgotten memories suddenly flit through his mind, finally giving him the feeling of closeness he had thought he'd lost seven years ago.

* * *

**Late December 25****th**

Bruce had quietly led Dick down to the sitting room, but when he left to prepare tea in the kitchen, Dick found an entrance to the cave and made his way down there. That's where Bruce found him a few moments later, standing in front of the new Batsuit's case, intently staring at it.

He asked questions about it, about the technology, about how he created it; and Bruce answered them all, explaining it well into the evening (it was the most complicated piece of technology, after all). But now that they've exhausted the topic, Dick stands before his seated adoptive father, searching for words to say.

An awkward moment of silence passes before Dick stuffs his hands in his pockets and says, "You owe me for the gliders idea."

"Right," Bruce replies, almost smirking. "You never said why you suddenly decided to check on me. I doubt it's cause you worried."

"That's not fair, Bruce," Dick scowls before sighing. "Look, I'm not here to fight; I think we've done enough of that the last fifty years." Bruce's eyes relax, suggesting agreement. "Yeah, you're right, as usual. I didn't come here on a whim. The life I chose," he hesitates, "it's given me a different perspective."

"What's your point?"

Dick pauses a moment before he reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out a small picture, handing it over to Bruce. "My daughter, Chloe."

Bruce takes the photo, meticulously studying the young woman's smiling face. She's a beautiful blond with striking eyes that demand attention and rightfully earn it.

"Hard to believe she's mine considering she looks nothing like me," Dick says, timidly rubbing the back of his neck.

"She has your smile," Bruce counters, making his adopted son slowly smile with pride.

"She's the reason I'm here." Bruce raises curious eyes to find Dick's posture has taken a dramatic change from confident to slumping with defeat. "They, uh, they diagnosed her with leukemia five months ago." A long and painful pause follows before Dick continues, "she has three months left."

Bruce brings his eyes down to the picture, understanding the pain Dick is going through, to the point of almost feeling it with him; but he never shows it.

"We celebrated her birthday last month," Dick quietly says, leaning against the console as grief takes its toll. "She made me promise something, and reminded me that being her last birthday, I'll have to keep it." Bruce brings his blue eyes up. "She asked me to reconcile with you."

Bruce nods once as he lets what Dick recounted mull over in his head. They sit in silence for a long time before Bruce suddenly speaks up.

"She's a clever girl."

"What do you mean?" Dick frowns.

"Using her birthday as leverage to get you to come."

Dick scoffs as he rolls his eyes. "She gets that from her mother."

"Is there anything I can do to help her?"

"No, we've tried everything. She isn't responding to chemo or experimental drugs. There's nothing left to do."

"I see," Bruce nods. "I'm sorry."

"Who isn't?" Dick resentfully asks.

"I mean I'm sorry for hurting you, Dick."

"What?" He blurts out, surprised by the apology.

"I'm sorry for hurting you," Bruce repeats, his strong eyes locked on his son's. "It was never my intention, but I'm sorry it happened."

Dick can't believe it; he's heard the apology not once, but three times. He didn't expect the visit to turn out like this even though it's what Chloe was hoping for.

"Why now?" He asks, straightening up.

"Because I know you'll hate me more if I disappoint your daughter."

"Are you kidding me?" Dick suddenly asks, running a hand through his silver hair. "All these years and just like that." He shakes his head with disbelief as he sighs.

He's never known Bruce to care about other people's feelings, let alone someone he hasn't met. As he locks eyes with his father, he searches for an answer or at least a clue that would reveal the change; it isn't the old man's age or his weakened heart. Something else about him is simply different.

"The McGinnis kid, what does he mean to you?" He asks, leaning back. Bruce doesn't respond. "Is he just another kid who needs room and board?"

"No, he has a family."

"Then?"

"Then nothing. He lost his father and was too stubborn to take no for an answer."

"Sounds familiar," Dick scoffs. "What about the girl? Who is she?"

"Terry's the one who found her."

Dick nods once. "Tim told me about Terry; said he's a good kid. I'd like to meet him sometime." Bruce gives him an acknowledging nod. He then holds out Chloe's photo. "Keep it," he says as he straightens up. "She would like you to have a picture of her."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-five."

"I'd like to meet her if that's okay," Bruce carefully asks.

"She'd love that," Dick smiles. "Look, I know we've had rough times, but thank you, Bruce, for everything." Bruce gives him another quiet nod, a response Dick is more than used to but still appreciates. "Here's Chloe's address and number when you want to, you know."

"I'll walk you to the door," Bruce offers.

"No need; I know my way around," he grins. "Tell the kid I said hey. Take it easy, old man." He gives Bruce a pat on the shoulder before he walks away, leaving his father to wonder if there really is something special about Christmas time.

-continued-


	5. Epilogue

**Late December 25****th**

It's been a while since he has pushed himself this hard. He hasn't slept in almost three days, but Terry's glad he finally reunited the Hernandez family before he made it back home. He types in his code on the door lock and walks into the darkened apartment. As he closes the door, he leans his back against it and sighs his worries away. Now that he's home, his only concern is whether or not to eat before sleeping.

He peels himself away from the door, throws his bag and keys on the floor and table respectively, and tiredly flops down on his couch, never bothering to turn on any lights. He lets his head fall onto the back of the couch as he kicks off his shoes and rests them on the coffee table. Another sigh escapes him as he wonders what his mother and brother must be doing about now. He thinks about calling Jazz, but he's too exhausted to retrieve his bag. He crosses his legs at the ankles and closes his burning, red-rimmed eyes.

As he slowly starts to doze, the unexpected beeping of the lock forces him to open his eyes and lift his head, curiously raising a brow at the opening door. Enough light from the hallway shines in to reveal the incomer to be a woman but not much else. Despite that fact, Terry knows only one person would be coming over at ten at night on Christmas day.

As Jazz closes the door behind her, Terry decides to remain quiet as he watches her move to the kitchen. It seems she's just as comfortable in the dark as he is. He hears a clink as she sets something down on the counter followed by something else that sounds plastic, like Tupperware. The sound of a crinkling bag follows before the refrigerator light shines when she opens the door.

"God, he never has any food in here," she says to herself as she pulls out moldy strawberries and expired milk to throw away. "How did he survive without me?" She sighs, making Terry smirk.

The door stays open giving Terry a chance to see her grab the bag she set down earlier. Out of it, she pulls a fresh carton of milk along with another carton, some kind of juice he can't make out in the dim lighting. He also sees a box of blackberries, a small bag of pears, strawberry flavored yogurt, and deli sliced ham.

"Shit, forgot the eggs," she mumbles before closing the fridge.

"I won't miss 'em," Terry suddenly says, startling her.

"Jesus Freakin' Christ!" She gasps, jumping for the lights.

"Be nice; it's his birthday," he quips, grinning at his partner's surprised face. "You mind turning the light off? I was enjoying the darkness."

"When did you get back?" She asks, obliging his request and flipping the lights again.

"Just now. Thought you were supposed to be at your mom's."

"I came over to drop off some stuff."

"I see that. What's in the casserole dish?" He asks, watching her approach.

"Half a roasted turkey with some mashed potatoes and stuffing; also got a little gravy, too."

"Did you make it?"

"No, my mom had them catered. I was going to make you a pot of stew before you came back, though."

"Still can. What's in the third Tupperware?"

"Sugar cookies; mom made them."

"No kidding?" He smiles, letting his head lean back again. "Speaking about your mom, you know I'm going to ask."

"Yeah, yeah," she sighs. "The visit was – uh – unexpected." She can sense Terry quizzically staring at her from the corner if his eye. "Started out a little rough, but it went well, Ter."

"You sound surprised."

"I am. Christmas usually sucks for me."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," she shrugs. "This one made up for the past. Your turn. Did you find the kid?"

"Yeah, thanks for the help."

"It's what I do. By the way," she suddenly says, standing up. Too tired to lift his head, Terry simply waits for her to come back. "Made you something," she says when she returns to her seat.

He picks his head up when she tosses something on his lap. Taking it in his hands, he lifts it up high enough to let the moonlight from the windows behind him shine onto it. Studying it with his eyes and fingers, he discovers the small circular slab of wood is a decorated tree ornament. On it, from what he can tell, are different pieces of fabric cut into shapes and glued on. With closer inspection, he can see the patterns cut are made to look like people, four of them.

"Apparently my mom's side of the family makes ornaments as a tradition," Jazz explains, resting her feet on the edge of the coffee table. "So I made you one; thing is, I'm not exactly skilled at arts and crafts, so don't laugh."

"What is it?" Terry asks, looking at her.

"Your family," she replies, timidly looking down at her fingers.

"Really?" He asks, giving it a second look.

From what he can tell given the dim moonlight, Jazz had added certain features so they are made to resemble the real people. Mary is given red hair, Warren wears rimmed glasses and a moustache, Matt has floppy hair and a grin, and two bright blue rhinestones belong to Terry's eyes.

"I know it's silly considering you never put a tree up, but I thought-"

"I like it, Jazz," Terry interrupts as he runs his fingers over the details of the fabric. "Thank you." She smiles as she nods. Setting it aside, Terry gets up with a tired groan. "Got you something, too."

He moves to the doorway where he dropped his bag and rummages through it until he finds what he needs. Returning to his seat, he hands her a square box as he gets comfortable again. Jazz lifts the lid to take out what looks like the biggest coffee cup she's ever seen before holding it up to the light to find a retro Garfield comic strip printed on it.

"Thought you might need a new one," Terry explains, making her smile.

"How'd you know I broke the big one?"

"Same way you know how to walk around my apartment in the dark, Douglas," he sighs, resting his head back and closing his eyes.

"Thanks, Ter," she says before realizing her friend has just dozed off.

She grabs a blanket from the couch and covers him with it. Standing, she gives his shoulder an affectionate squeeze before bending down to place a small peck on his cheek.

"Night, McGinnis," she whispers with a small but content smile, reassured that whatever may happen in the future, she can rely on the fact that she'll never face another painful Christmas with Terry in her life.

End

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and Have a Great New Year :D


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